Stolen Child

by Marsha Forchuk Skrypuch

  My memories tumbled out. I told them about Eva and the pink dress and where I thought it came from. I told them about the books I was forbidden to read and the one I was forced to read. I told them about meeting Hitler. It seemed like Marusia had known some of this, but not all. Ivan sat listening in silence, his lips set in a thin grim line. When I finished, I was empty of tears.

  “Do you remember when we met?” Marusia asked.

  I closed my eyes and thought hard. Marusia was so much a part of my life, but when we met? I drew a blank. Marusia and I escaping on the flatbed of the train was a vivid memory. And the day we arrived at the DP camp. On the edge of my dreams was an image of Marusia with that same German family at that same farm in the countryside. I didn’t know how she fit in, but she was somehow there and so were lilac bushes. Marusia back then was like a once familiar song now forgotten.

  “Do you want me to tell you about it?” she asked.

  I began to shake. I had no idea why. “Not now.”

  Marusia lightly touched my forearm with her fingers. “I don’t mean to push you,” she said. “But it is important for you to fill those forgotten parts of your life. Otherwise, we’ll never find out who you really are.”

  That is what scared me the most. Did I want to know who I really was? What if I didn’t like that person? That was the thought I fell asleep to …

  I pull at the handle of the door but it won’t open and the window won’t roll down. I pound on the glass. “Let me out, let me out.” Outside, the world is filled with smoke. I hear sirens. See a face that looks like mine.

  The front door clicked softly open and shut. I bolted out of bed and scrambled to the window. Ivan. I knew it was Ivan on his way to the foundry in the darkness of the early morning. Why did this sound scare me so?

  I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and thought of the dream that was still a fragment of fear in my mind. Why did I dream I was trying to get out of a safe car when a building was burning outside? It made no sense. And how could I be outside and inside that car at the same time?

  I tiptoed downstairs and slipped out to the backyard. I sat on my swing in the darkness and breathed in the faint scent of burned leaves. The smell reminded me of something that happened long ago, something I did remember …

  The long black car idled beside the smoking ruin of a newly bombed factory. Vater got out. “I won’t be long,” he said to Mutter as he closed the door.

  “You’d better not be,” Mutter said, more to herself than to Eva or me. “We can’t be late for this rally.”

  Yet another rally. It was hot in the car and my pink dress felt itchy. My hair was pulled so tightly into a braid that my scalp ached. Eva’s hair cascaded loose down her back and her dress was made of cool pink muslin, yet she couldn’t sit still. The buckle of her shoe nearly caught on my skirt as she clambered over me to get to the window. I smoothed it back down and sighed.

  “Sit down, Eva,” said Mutter, reaching over me to tug at Eva’s dress, but Eva stayed where she was.

  “It’s hot in here, Mutti.” Eva rolled down the window and a cool smoky breeze drifted in.

  “We’re going to smell like smoke,” said Mutter.

  “At least we won’t smell sweaty,” said Eva.

  Had I said that, I would have been slapped. I arched my neck so I could see what was happening at the factory. I knew that this one made weapons for the war and that was why it was attacked.

  One long wing of the building was bombed flat and smoke curled out of the remains. Anyone who had worked in that part of the factory would have died.

  Vater was giving orders to boys who wore swastika armbands. Frightened women in grey rags limped out of billowing smoke. Everything was in shades of grey except for the slashes of blood on clothing where sharp fragments of blasted brick had cut forearms and shoulders. Blood dried a sticky brown in tangles of blond and black and chestnut hair where shrapnel had hit scalps.

  “Why aren’t they wearing the yellow stars?” asked Eva.

  Mutter leaned over to get a better look at the women. I did the same. These ones were wearing white and blue badges saying OST.

  “They’re the eastern workers,” said Mutter.

  “Are they animals like the Jews, Mutti?”

  “Yes, dear, that’s why they work in the munitions factory. You wouldn’t want Germans to get bombed, would you?”

  I squinted at individual faces in the sad and tattered crowd of OST workers. One girl had hair not quite as fair as my own. As if she could feel my stare, she looked up. It was like I was seeing an older version of myself. Our eyes met and her mouth formed a wide O of shock. She tried to call something to me but then one of the Hitler Youth stepped in front of her and pushed her away …

  The back door opened with a squeak. I blinked once, and then again, and looked around. It was daylight and I was on my swing. My feet were blue with cold. I looked to the back door and Marusia was standing there, clutching a thin housecoat around her shoulders.

  “Nadia,” she said. “I had no idea you were out here. You are going to catch your death.”

  I stumbled a bit on frozen legs as I got off the swing. Marusia wrapped a blanket around me when I got inside. She busied herself at the stove, then set a mug of scalding cocoa on the table in front of me. It warmed my fingers as I raised it to my lips. Flashes and flakes of that memory still seemed as real as my cocoa. That girl who looked like me — I knew now that it wasn’t me. And the OST badge she wore — where had I seen one before?

  “Did you remember something more?”

  “Not about when we met,” I said. “I remembered about that black car and I know why there was smoke.”

  I told her about the bombing and the girl who looked like me. She reached out and took one of my hands. She didn’t say anything for a bit. It was like she was trying to figure out what to say. “Millions from Ukraine and Poland were taken as Ostarbeiters — OST workers.”

  I had an image of Marusia in a worn grey dress, with an OST badge stitched to her chest. I set my cocoa down so quickly that some of it sloshed onto the table. I covered my face with my hands, but the image wouldn’t go away. “You were an OST worker too, weren’t you?”

  “Nadia,” Marusia said. “Your memory is coming back. Do you remember when we met?”

  “Were you at that bombed-out factory? Was it you I saw?” But even as I asked the question, I knew that I was wrong. Looking at Marusia was not like looking at an older me.

  “We met at the farm, Nadia. Try to remember.”

  Parts of it came back to me … The military truck stopping in our drive. A soldier unlatching the back door and an OST woman tumbling out onto the gravel. From the stench I could tell she’d been travelling for a long time. Marusia trying to stand, but her legs so wobbly that she fell back down. Looking up and seeing me. Then me feeling so guilty of my finery and of who I was, and running back into the farmhouse to hide in shame.

  “I remember, Marusia” I said in a small voice. “I remember now. Where did you come from?”

  “Zelena,” said Marusia. “A small village in eastern Ukraine. The Germans came and ordered everyone my age to come to the village square. Anyone who didn’t come was rooted out and shot. They sorted through us. I was loaded into the back of a truck.” She brushed a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. “It wasn’t heated and we weren’t given food. Some people had bits of food with them and we shared it. We travelled for many days.”

  “And then you were taken to the farm?”

  “No,” said Marusia. “I was sent to work at the Ford Werke factory in Cologne.”

  Wisps of the past drifted into my mind. The bombed-out weapons plant … “I’m glad they didn’t have you making bombs,” I whispered.

  “In that way I was lucky,” said Marusia. “But we were still slaves.”

  “How did you get to the farm?” I asked.

  “At the car factory, they locked us into a big barracks at night,” said Marusia. “But I es
caped. I was caught and sent back, but the factory didn’t want me back. They said I was undependable, so I was sent to a concentration camp. But I convinced them that I was a good cook. I was given to General Himmel, who gave me to his wife.”

  I stared at my cocoa. The man that I knew as Vater, Marusia knew as General Himmel. The thought of what she had been through made my stomach churn.

  “It is good that you’re beginning to remember,” she said. “As you remember more, you will understand why you have nothing to feel guilty about.”

  “Why don’t you just tell me everything you know about my past?” I asked her. “Wouldn’t that be simpler?”

  “I don’t know your whole past,” said Marusia. “I’m afraid that if I tell you what I know, it could influence your memories. It’s best for you to air this out as the memories surface.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” I told her angrily. “You don’t have to live with these nightmares.”

  Marusia was silent for a moment. She brushed away a tear from her eye, then reached out her hand and placed it on top of mine. “I am living with my own ghosts, Sonechko.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Red Ink

  At school later that morning, I tried to pay attention, but as Miss Ferris wrote notes on the board, the words seemed to blur and blend together. I kept on thinking about that girl who looked like an older me. Who was she and why did she appear in my nightmares? I was so absent-minded that I didn’t hear the bell for morning recess. Linda touched my arm and I nearly jumped out of my seat.

  “Sorry!” she said. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  I blinked a couple of times to try to clear the images from my mind. Maybe that girl who looked like me was just a ghost of my imagination? “Let’s go outside,” I said.

  Linda sped down the hallway in front of me and pushed open the door. I followed her on legs that felt like rubber.

  “You’re acting strange today,” said Linda, once we were outside.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I don’t feel very well.”

  “Maybe the fresh air will do you some good.”

  Except the air wasn’t fresh. It smelled of burning leaves. We walked past a group of girls from our class who were clustered together chatting quietly. I overheard bits of their conversation. Hallowe’en was tomorrow and they were talking about what costumes they would be wearing for the class party — a witch, a ghost, a nurse …

  Others were playing double dutch with the younger students, but none of them called to Linda or me to ask us to join. Most of the boys were out in the field tossing around a football. How I wished that I could be like these other students. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to not have a past?

  When we got back into the classroom, I noticed an envelope sticking out of the corner of my workbook. I had a moment of panic. Had Miss Ferris noticed that I wasn’t paying attention this morning? Maybe it was a note sending me to the principal’s office. I pulled the envelope out of my workbook and breathed a sigh of relief. A big childish N was written on the front in red ink and the writing didn’t look at all like Miss Ferris’s tidy script. Could this be an invitation to a birthday or Hallowe’en party? I looked over to Linda’s desk. There was no envelope on hers. I couldn’t possibly go to a party if she hadn’t also been invited.

  Most of the other students had returned to their desks by this time but class hadn’t begun and Miss Ferris still sat at her desk at the front of the room, marking papers. I held the envelope on my lap so Miss Ferris wouldn’t see me opening it. I ripped it open as quietly as I could and pulled out the piece of paper — a crude drawing of girl with yellow braids — covered in red swastikas. Underneath, someone had written, Nazi Nadia, go back to Hitler-land!

  “Nadia, what are you reading?” Miss Ferris asked in a sharp voice. She stood at the front of the room with her hands on her hips. “You know we don’t pass notes in class.”

  I shoved the paper into my desk, but the envelope fluttered to the floor. Several of my classmates turned to watch me. Eric was grinning and David covered his mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

  “Noth– nothing … ” I said. “I was just getting out my workbook.”

  “Your workbook is on your desk,” said Miss Ferris sternly. “Stand up, and share with us what you find so interesting.”

  I stumbled to my feet, but didn’t take the horrible note out of my desk. I could feel my heart pound in my chest. How could I possibly read it out loud?

  “Get the note, Nadia. We would all like to hear it.”

  I stood there, frozen. Miss Ferris marched down the aisle and knelt at my desk. She pulled the offending piece of paper out and unfolded it.

  Her face became still. “Sit down, Nadia,” she said, resting her hand gently on my shoulder. She walked to the front of the classroom and held up the hideous drawing for everyone to see. A hush fell over the room. Someone giggled. I crouched down in my seat. If only I could disappear.

  “Who did this?” she almost shouted. No one raised a hand. “You will all have a detention if the guilty party does not step forward.”

  This time she did shout. No one raised their hand. I stared at the back of Eric’s head. He sat rigid, with his hands folded neatly on his desk. I was sure he was no longer grinning. I couldn’t be sure if it was him or David. It could have been anyone. I felt embarrassed and small.

  “Hands on your desks, everyone,” Miss Ferris said sternly. “Palms up.” She marched up one aisle and down the next, examining everyone’s hands for red ink. When she got to David’s desk she stopped. She grabbed one of his hands and twisted it back and forth. “Red ink,” she said. “Empty your desk. Now!” David reached into his desk and emptied it of books and notebooks and pens and pencils. Miss Ferris looked through each item carefully for more evidence and then tossed it to the floor.

  “That’s all I have,” he said with an innocent look on his face. Miss Ferris reached inside his desk and rooted around. She pulled out a pad of paper and a fountain pen filled with red ink. She flipped through the paper. More sickening sketches of “Nazi Nadia.” I crouched farther down in my seat.

  “Get up,” said Miss Ferris. She grabbed David by the ear and marched him out of the room. Once the door slammed shut behind them, a couple dozen pair of eyes turned to stare at me.

  I convinced Marusia and Ivan to let me stay home from school on Hallowe’en. I did not feel like dressing up in a silly costume and pretending that I was having fun just a day after David’s nastiness. Doing chores around the house was preferable. “Let us not make this a habit,” Marusia warned me.

  I was at the kitchen sink scrubbing grass stains out of one of her work shirts when I spied Mychailo at the back door. He wasn’t wearing a costume. “It’s open,” I called through the window. “Didn’t your class have a party this afternoon?” I asked him as he stepped inside.

  “We did,” said Mychailo. “I just put a sheet over my head and called myself a ghost.”

  That made me smile.

  He rooted through his pockets and pulled out a candy kiss. “Here,” he said, holding it out for me. “Now you can say you’ve been kissed by a boy.”

  That made me blush. “Thanks,” I said. “Put it on the table.” My hands were still soapy. I rinsed Marusia’s shirt, wrung it out and then hung it on the laundry line outside. I opened up the candy kiss and popped it into my mouth.

  “Are you going trick or treating tonight?” Mychailo asked. “You can go with me if you want.”

  I hadn’t planned on going trick or treating. After the incident at school yesterday, I didn’t even feel like going outside. The whole thing was so shameful. Besides, this custom of Hallowe’en seemed strange to me — and a little bit scary. “I don’t have a costume.”

  “You can go as a ghost,” he said. “Or a hobo.” He looked at me with impatience. “Those costumes are easy. Don’t you want free candy?”

  I had to admit that the thought of free candy was exciting. And if I did go trick
or treating, I would feel safe going with Mychailo. “I’ll ask Mar— Mama and Tato if I can go,” I said.

  “Great,” he said. “I’ll come by just as it starts to get dark.”

  Ivan was pleased that I had decided to go out trick or treating and he was especially happy that I was going with Mychailo. “You need to be a child more often,” he said. And he helped me put together a costume. I was a scarecrow, with itchy long grass from the far edges of the backyard stuffed in a flannel shirt of Ivan’s. On top, I wore a pair of Marusia’s overalls that were so old they were patched on the patches. Ivan used her red lipstick to paint on a scarecrow face. We had no candy to give out, but we did have a bowl of apples from Marusia’s farm that she had polished to a glossy sheen.

  I could tell by the expression in Marusia’s eyes that she was less sure about me going out, but she pretended to be happy. She gave me an extra-long hug goodbye when I left with Mychailo. “Stay on this street,” she said. “And be home in an hour.”

  One nice thing about living on a street with close-together houses is you can get to a lot of them in an hour. My pillowcase was soon full of treats: candy apples and caramel corn, bubble gum and peanuts. I dumped all of my candy out on the kitchen table when I got home. Ivan, Marusia and I ate far too much of it. I went to bed with a stomach ache. I tossed and turned all night and had a long and scary dream. In the morning I could only remember bits and snatches.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mansion

  I got into the habit of going to Linda’s house on Tuesdays after school and she came to my house on Thursdays. It was hard to find a place to play inside. Linda shared a bedroom with Grace on the second floor. They had bunk beds and a bookshelf crammed with old novels. I longed to look through that bookshelf, but the bedroom itself made me feel like I couldn’t breathe. I think part of it was because Grace was always there. She’d either be reading, propped up on a pillow on the top bunk, or she’d have a friend over and they’d be doing a project for school or something.